


If I Go, I'm Going

by Cibeeeee



Series: Wanderlust [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-09-14 21:08:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9203228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cibeeeee/pseuds/Cibeeeee
Summary: McCree loved traveling - alone. Since he was young it's been his dream to be like the wandering cowboys in the movies. Before he didn't have the luxury, now he had a reason and Overwatch back to fall back on, McCree was finally able to travel the world without much of the risk he had before.But it wasn't as liberating as he thought it would be.(sequel to Big Black Car, some glimpses into McCree's journey)





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a followup to another story i wrote [ Big Black Car](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8597620) it may be a bit confusing if you havent read that one first
> 
> The title is from [If I Go, I'm Going](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q3gnxO8bUxQ) by Gregory Alan Isakov 
> 
> You can find me on [Tumblr](http://cibeeeeee.tumblr.com/) and/or [Twitter](https://twitter.com/spiciestcibee?lang=zh-tw) !

Cliff of Moher was extremely, unpleasantly windy this time of year. The air was cold. The wind so strong it made McCree’s face felt like ice and his hair stiff. He had to constantly wipe his nose. And McCree couldn’t count the times his scarf slapped him in the face because of the wind.

But it was beautiful in some way – the vast plains leading up to the cliffs. Forgotten abbeys littered along the way. Tour buses with only three people drove pass McCree’s rented car. January was bleary and gray in this part of Ireland. Tourists were scarce, but more than McCree had anticipated.

He went into the visitor center first. Feigning boredom at the exhibition of the wildlife and the formation of the rocks, playing his part as a tourist, from the corner of his eyes looking out for his target.

The target wasn’t in the visitor center nor the gift shop, not that McCree was expecting him to be. McCree was being cautious, in case someone noticed a lone tourist that was looking at people instead of the attractions.

McCree took a moment to prepare himself before stepping out of the warmth of the visitor center, holding the door open for a mother and her child. The wind still hit him like the first sound of a morning alarm, left him surprised and pissed-off.

“Mother of god, fuck this,” McCree cursed as he re-wrap his scarf around his face. Pulling up his hood and making his way towards O’Brien’s Tower.

Everyone looked like him – with scarf around their face and hood or hat covering their head. Head casted low to fight the wind. No one was looking at other people and McCree pretended he was doing the same.

“You sound like you have a lot of friends, but there’s never anyone around our house,” a woman murmured. McCree’s attention gravitated towards the conversation.

“They all live back in Colorado, mom. I’m alone here,” the woman next to her sighed. McCree noticed the bitter tone in her voice, and the way the mother turned her face away.

McCree picked up his pace. This wasn’t the conversation he was looking for, nor one he wanted to keep listening to.

The tower needed an entry fee of two euro, which McCree thought was too much for just walking up a ridiculous narrow flight of stairs and getting a headache from the wind outside.

McCree said this in his head, but he needed the aerial view it provided. So he paid the fee, and tiptoed (the stairs were far too small for his feet) up the tower.

Stepping out into the misty air, McCree was smacked in the face by his own scarf and a passerby’s. The man apologized and McCree laughed, saying it was alright.

From the tower he could see all the people that were walking around the tower. People on the grass nearby were slightly more difficult. McCree turned on the professional camera he brought.

He zoomed in on the base of the cliffs first. The waves were hitting the walls violently. A few opening of caverns could be seen. McCree took pictures of their locations. One of them had to be where the smugglers were hiding their supplies.

During this time of the year the ferry service to the cliff and nearby island was suspended; no one would be near the cliff sides, so no one would notice the activity that was set to go on there.

No one except McCree, that is.

The pictures were sent to Athena as soon as they were taken. McCree turned his lens to the tourists lingering around the tower. If he was lucky, his target would choose here to inspect the location as well.

Some visitors came up and took pictures. McCree never left his spot, pretending to be engrossed in taking the perfect shot. No one bothered him or asked him for help taking a picture. No more scarfs smacked him in the face or the lens of his camera. He was alone.

McCree found himself looking at the cliffs again. It was beautiful in all the expected ways – gloomy atmosphere, straight lines of cliffs, protruding rocks from the ocean and in this way, maybe not so special at all. The wind howled around him, and the waves here hit the rocks more violently than the ones in Gibraltar. Hanzo loved the way the soft waves brushed against the edged back in their home. Said it was relaxing. Would watch it for hours if he could.

McCree wondered if Hanzo would like Cliff of Moher, or would he find it too harsh? Too cold? Too windy? Hanzo was prone to headache if the wind was strong…

McCree stopped right there. He was working, and he shouldn’t be daydreaming. He used to be able to focus on a job for hours without wavering, why was this so difficult now?

There was a man that stood out.

McCree grasped on to this, willing his mind to forget about Hanzo for now. The man was leaning against the railings, accompanied with another man

The other man was dressed for the weather. Sweater, wind block coat, a hat. The one that caught McCree’s eyes was wearing a thin shirt with a suit jacket over it, shivering in the wind. Perhaps a local and a foreigner. They didn’t travel here together, if they had, it would be more likely that they dressed similarly. Greeted with a hug, so friends? Acquaintances? Who the fuck wears a suit jacket to an Irish cliff side? Who the fuck doesn’t tell their friends to dress properly?

Because they weren’t friends. They were conversing lowly.

McCree snapped a quick picture of the suited man’s face when he turned to glance at the tower. McCree ducked behind the wall right as the man’s eyes landed on his previous spot.

Athena confirmed that the man was the target Overwatch was looking for. Now McCree just had to wait until they finish their chat, and tail the man to whatever transport that brought him here. Take another picture and call it a day.

He didn’t need to confront the man if he wasn’t discovered. By the time he sent all the information back to Athena it was not even two in the afternoon. McCree looked at the cliffs. A girl placing some coins in a musician’s hat. A family helping another family take pictures.

A couple walking arm in arm, looking out at the waves. The woman had her hair in a high ponytail.

McCree decided he didn’t need to linger any longer.

Though it did seem a waste driving all this way and not visit other places. McCree knew that Doolin was only some distant away. They supposed to have some good beer there.

Doolin was small and empty. Two flags of Ireland greeted Jesse as he got out of his car. The streets were absent of visitors. In front of a pub, a dog was whining at a cat.

“Now you be nice,” McCree petted the dog. The dog pulled against his chain, and cried at the tensed cat. “You’re scaring the little guy.”

The cat took his chance and ran past them and across the street. The cat looked back at the dog briefly when he got to the other side, then disappear behind a bush.

The dog was still looking at the spot where the cat disappeared when McCree walked into the pub.

McCree chose a cramp booth next to a sign that said “why not try a pint of our Dooliner Beer?”

And he did. A red ale that was smooth and gentle on his tongue, not at all like the alcohol he was used to drinking.

Now that he had nothing to distract himself with, with only a drink in his hand and an empty seat in front of him, McCree couldn’t help thinking of –

Will Hanzo like the taste of this beer? Does he like small towns like Doolin? Would he enjoy the sights of abbey ruins that littered along the fields?

What would it be like, if Hanzo was sitting next to him as Jesse drove into the wilderness under a pale gray sky?

McCree realized one thing: he really didn’t know Hanzo as well as he thought.

During their times of acquaintances, a good part of it was spent in McCree sulking in what he thought was a mutual enmity that he later found out was one-sided on his part all along. He could have spent so much more time knowing Hanzo instead of holding onto a history that wasn’t even his to begin with. He had to wait until Hanzo took a bullet for him to admit to himself that he was attracted to a man that hurt one of his best friends. And multiple visit to the wounded archer to finally try and befriend him. That was almost ten months after Hanzo joined.

God, the time McCree had wasted, what he wouldn’t give to have Hanzo here now – he just wanted to see those eyes –

McCree downed his beer.  _ It’s only been three months, _ McCree tugged at his hood, over his eyes.  _ Two years and nine months to go.  _

 

．．．．．

 

_ That was dumb, _ McCree thought as he walked out of the small shop. A moment of weakness. Of a longing that was suddenly so unbearable he hadn’t thought about what he was going to do with the small instrument under his armpit.

A ukulele. McCree was supposed to keep his luggage light. Buying an instrument was not a way to do that. McCree sighed and rubbed his eye. A moment of longing that weaken him, he argued with himself, an impulse…

Back in his small flat in some remote fishing town in Norway. McCree set the ukulele down in favor of making some dinner, which was just hard crackers and some sort of fish paste in a tube.

McCree closed all the windows and sat beside it. The cold still steep through the glass. He stared at the forest that was basically his backyard, covered in snow.

The sun was setting already. McCree glanced at the clock. Three p.m.

He tugged the curtains shut with too much force, hoping with the sky out of view, he could still pretend it was still bright outside.

 

．．．．．

 

McCree didn’t pay the instrument that was left on his kitchen counter any mind for the next few days. He almost thought about returning it when he finally remembered its existence, but didn’t despite his better judgement.

It was, again, a few days later when he finished gathering information on a local anti- omanic attack that McCree laid his eyes on it.

McCree couldn’t deny that ever since he bought it, he was purposely ignoring it – because he didn’t know what he was going to do with it. Leave it? Return it? Play it?

_ “Play it?”  _ Hanzo’s voice ran through Jesse’s heart.

_ “Yeah,” McCree answered. “You know how?” _

_ “I’m afraid not,” Hanzo said, finger gently touching the D string. _

_ “Well, I can teach you, if you like,” McCree offered,  _ (that was such a long time ago, Jesse could barely remember where this conversation took place, yet he could remember Hanzo’s every movement).

_ Hanzo was silent for a moment. McCree was nervous for a moment. _

_ “Yes,” Hanzo finally said. His crow’s feet (laugh lines) deepened as he smiled. “I would like that.”  _

McCree picked up the instrument. It was no guitar, but it was good enough.

He didn’t really think about what song to play, but the words rolled off of his tongue before McCree could stop himself.

“This house, she’s holding secret…”

His voice was low, but drumming in his own ears.

“…I will go if you ask me to,

I will stay if you dare,

And if I go I’m going shameless…

I’ll let my hunger take me there…”

_ “Stay,” Hanzo said. Words choked. “Jesse, stay.” _

_ I’m sorry, Jesse thought. “Don’t cry, Hanzo, please,” Jesse said. _

_ The first time McCree saw Hanzo cried, and it was because of him. “Jesse,” Hanzo was almost pleading. “Don’t leave.” _

The song hitched for a second as McCree dropped to the ground. His back against the kitchen counter. His knees drawn close to him.

“I will go if you ask me to,

I will stay if you dare,

And if I go, I’m going crazy,

I’ll let my darlin take me there…”

The song stopped. McCree dropped his forehead on his knee.

_ Two years and eight months to go. _

 

**Author's Note:**

> When the longing of someone makes the dream you were looking forward to for so long feels incredibly alone


End file.
